


FF#4: Alone with You

by MissMudpie



Series: SmoakAndArrow's Olicity Flash Fictions [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMudpie/pseuds/MissMudpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Oliver and Felicity didn't sleep with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FF#4: Alone with You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SmoakAndArrow's Flash Fic, except, once again, it took longer than an hour because I had too much fun writing it.

1.

After Tommy... After, Oliver had made his way back to the Foundry, where Felicity was already helping to stitch up Diggle. None of them had spoken, not really, as they helped him out of the hood and sewed up his wounds. It was dawn before they all left, Oliver returning home to find the mansion empty. At first he had been glad to be alone, but soon the voices in his head – Tommy’s voice, mainly – became too loud. He needed something else to shout them down.

Felicity answers the door, the late afternoon sun lighting her from behind. She’s in sweats and an over-sized T-shirt, wrapped up in a brightly colored blanket. “Oliver?”

“I owed you this,” he says, crossing the threshold and waving the bottle of 1982 Lefite Rothschild.

“You didn’t – ”

“Yes. I did.”

She nods in understanding, one arm coming out from the blanket to motion to her couch. “I’ll get some glasses.”

They drink the bottle in near silence, watching the news on mute. The number of victims displayed in the corner of the screen goes up nearly every hour. At sunset they open the $15 pinot that Felicity bought on sale, and to Oliver it tastes the same as the Rothschild. Like ashes.

“I’m sorry. About Tommy,” she whispers. She turns to him with eyes made hazy by both the alcohol and unshed tears. “What do we do now?”

He has no answer, doesn’t even want to think of an answer. He wants a distraction.

So he kisses her.

In the back of his mind, he thinks that this is wrong, that he shouldn’t be with another woman who isn’t Laurel. Not after the promises he made to her – God, was it only the day before? But these thoughts are quickly banished, because Felicity – Felicity, who knows his secret, who knows him – Felicity is kissing him back, turning on the couch and crawling into his lap.

It’s the wine, and the sleep deprivation, and the trauma, and Oliver has no idea where they go from here if they continue this act to its end, but in that moment he doesn’t care, because for the first time since he left Tommy’s side the voices are silent.

He doesn’t say her name. She doesn’t say his. On that, they are on the same page. This isn’t lovemaking, it’s two people seeking solace in each other. The only time they speak is when he’s flipped her, topless, onto the couch. She reaches up to remove her glasses, and he stops her. “Leave them on,” he commands. 

She’s warm and wet and it doesn’t last nearly as long as he would like, but as twilight closes in on them he feels Felicity tighten and shudder underneath him and he follows her into the abyss.

After, as they catch their breaths, Felicity lays a tender kiss on his brow. Somehow, that simple act feels more intimate than they one they’ve just completed. 

(He does go over with the wine, and they do drink it with the news on silent. Felicity falls asleep on his shoulder, and Oliver stays for longer than he should, because she finally looks at peace. It’s only after the sun has long set that he carries her to her bed, unmade, and tucks her in the covers.

He leaves the next day for Lian Yu.)

 

2.

She made him coffee. 

He sips it slowly, watching her set up the conference room for whatever meeting is planned for the morning. 

He hair is down, which is taking some getting used to. He wonders if it’s a part of her new “secret identity,” a part of the costume she’s assumed for her new role as Executive Assistant to the CEO. He hopes not. As beautiful as it is down, he prefers the ponytail. And the glasses. That’s his Felicity.

She came for him. To Lian Yu, half a world away. Jumped out of a plane and nearly got herself blown up by a land mine. She brought him home and set up a new lair, because she knew what he didn’t – that he would come back. Come back not just to Starling City, but to the Hood or whatever name he chooses for himself.

She believes in him. 

That thought has him on his feet and in the conference room. “Hey.”

She jumps. “We should put a bell on you.”

He approaches her slowly. “I wanted to say thank you.”

She leans back against the table and crosses her arms. “I meant what I said. You get one.” Her tone is firm but her smirk is playful.

“I wasn’t talking about the coffee.”

“Then what?”

He’s standing in front of her now. With anyone else he would be violating personal space, but Felicity doesn’t move. If anything, she leans closer.

“You know what.”

She nods. “We all lose our way sometimes, Oliver.”

“You brought me back.”

“You would have come home, eventually.” Her voice is so sure. It floors him, the faith she has in him. “Digg and me, we just helped speed that process along.”

“No, Felicity.” He looks her in the eye, to make sure she understands exactly what he’s saying. “You brought me back.”

He leans down. His lips hover over hers, their breaths intermingling. But he leaves the last inch up to her. Her choice.

She kisses him.

It’s soft, at first, but then Felicity opens her mouth and flicks her tongue against his lips. That’s all the invitation he needs to kiss her deeply, hands twining in her long hair. He lifts her on the table, bunching her shirt at the waist so he can spread her legs and step between them. 

“Are we really doing this?” she gasps as he kisses her neck while his hands pull down her underwear. “A one-time quickie on the conference room table?”

He stops to cup her face. “Felicity,” he says, his voice soft yet ragged at the same time. “This might be on the conference room table, but it won’t be quick. And it won’t be once.”

The smile she gives rivals the sun. She murmurs his name before claiming his lips once more. 

She gasps it when he buries his face between her legs.

She cries it when she tightens around him for the second time, her release triggering his own.

And she sighs it against his chest as he holds her after, clothes scattered throughout the conference room.

“Is this going to happen every time I bring you coffee? Because I might have to rethink my policy.”

He laughs.

(He watches her set up for tomorrow’s meeting. Diggle arrives shortly thereafter and the three head to the Foundry.)

 

3.

Diggle leaves shortly after Felicity places the mask on him for the first time, and Felicity makes to pack up as well as Oliver heads to the shower. He’s exhausted – mentally and physically. The hot water sluices down his body, stinging his cuts and scraps but soothing the bruises. He leans heavily against the wall, barely able to hold himself up.

He doesn’t hear the bathroom door open, doesn’t hear her enter. It’s only when she’s standing naked in the shower stall’s doorway, glasses off but hair still up, that he’s even aware of her presence.

“Felicity…”

She shakes her head and enters the stall. He’s never seen such a look of determination on her face. She doesn’t speak until she’s right before him, bodies as close as can be without actually touching.

“That’s twice now I’ve watched you code on that table. Twice I’ve watched your heart stop beating. The first time I barely knew you but now…Oliver, if I lost you…” Her voice trails off and she gives a frustrated sigh, as if, for all her babbling, words have finally left her. So instead, she acts, pushing up on the balls of her feet to capture his lips with hers. 

They kiss for a long while, bodies pushed against each other as the hot water comes down around them. He wants her, that much is painfully obvious, but when she reaches down to take him in hand, he stops her. “Felicity. I can’t.” Hurt washes over her features, but he holds her fast. “I mean…I physically don’t think I can…Not the way I want to.”

She gives a shy smile and pushes him gently against the shower wall. “Then just relax, Oliver,” she says as she sinks to her knees.

Her mouth is hot, her tongue wicked. He doesn’t last long, releasing into her mouth with a grunt of her name, her hair tangled between his fingers. He kisses her and tastes himself. He promises to make it up to her when they get to her place.

Except he almost falls asleep on the ride there, crammed though he is in her tiny car. He’s gone the moment his head hits her pillow.

Oliver wakes up hours and hours later; the clock on his phone reads well after noon. He finds Felicity at her kitchen table, engrossed in her tablet. It’s awkward, the first moment, like they’re both waiting for the other to make a move, to determine which path they’re going to take. She stands, offering to make him a sandwich, and as she’s putting turkey on the bread Oliver wraps his arms around her waist. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he tells her to add a little more mustard.

Later, he takes her in the shower the way he promised. They use up all of her hot water.

(Felicity is gone by the time he’s out of the shower. They next day, they get news that Barry is in a coma, and she takes the first train out to Central City.)

 

4.

They’re all exhausted by the time the plane lands in Starling City. Oliver and Felicity had slept for most of the flight from China to L.A., but whatever rest they garnered from that is gone as soon as they touch down. Lyla is practically half asleep, the weight of helping save the world while growing a small human finally taking its toll. Diggle supports her off the plane and into his car. He hugs Felicity and he and Oliver shake hands and slap each other on the shoulder. “I’m turning off my phone for the next 48 hours,” he says. “I suggest you two do the same.”

It’s barely 7am when they arrive at Felicity’s townhouse – by some unspoken agreement they decided they would both go there – but the trip and the time change have their inner clocks all out of whack. So when Oliver suggests ordering Chinese food for breakfast, Felicity just hands him the phone. She showers while he orders; he’s just getting out of his when the food arrives. They sit on her couch and half-watch an old episode of SVU while they eat. Felicity starts a load of their combined laundry while Oliver cleans up breakfast or dinner or whatever that meal was. 

It’s barely 9am.

They spend the rest of the morning tucked together on the couch, watching whatever movies happen to be playing on the various cable channels. Oliver must have nodded off at some point, because one minute he’s watching Captain America sing about Hitler and the next Felicity is kneeling in front of him, stroking his brow. 

“What time is it?”

“A little after two. I ate the rest of the dumplings.”

“I don’t even care.”

Felicity smiles and tugs on his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

She doesn’t blush or stutter, which just proves how tired they both are. She pulls her curtains to hide out the afternoon light. They start off respectful, each on their own side, backs to each other. But then Felicity twists and Oliver turns, and without meaning to they’ve gravitated towards each other. Legs tangle. One arm goes around her waist. Her hand rests over his chest.

This is how they finally fall asleep.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been out when the crack of thunder wakes them both. It’s dark now, even without the curtains, but every so often lightning illuminates the room. 

“I like this,” she whispers, her head nestled on his shoulder. “Not this, this. I mean, this is very nice, too. I meant the rain.” Her fingers stroke his chest through his shirt, and his own gently rub her back. “Not much rain in Las Vegas. My first real thunderstorm was when I moved to Cambridge. I used to sit by the window and just watch the rain.”

“On the Island, it used to rain for days sometimes. I hated it. But this,” he tightens his hold on her. “This is nice.”

He can’t see her face, but he knows she’s smiling as her nose rubs against his neck. She drops a gentle kiss there. He turns to kiss her forehead, then her nose. Her cheek. Her lips, whisper-soft. They’re moving, rolling over so Felicity is on her back and Oliver is hovering over her. Their noses touch, but neither one moves for a long moment. Then she whispers, “Oliver,” and he breathes, “Felicity,” and then finally, finally, they kiss. 

They make love slowly. “I love you,” he whispers as he kisses his way down her body. “I love you, too,” she answers as her fingers follow the jagged paths of his scars. Outside, the storm continues, but inside her little room, they finally find peace.

(This is the closest they get. They have Chinese for breakfast and spend the afternoon in her bed. He’s just made up his mind to kiss her as she stares up from under him, when there’s an urgent knocking at her door.

It’s Roy, soaked to the bone, carrying Thea’s letter.)

 

5.

This is their worst fight. He’s not even sure how it started.

Amanda Waller came to them for help on a mission of dubious morality. Felicity objected. Oliver agreed to it anyway. 

It spiraled from there.

She says they’re partners, he can’t just make the decisions. He claims she’s just angry because the decision wasn’t hers. She demands he tell her how exactly he knows Waller – she knows by now he wasn’t on Lian Yu all those years, but he still hasn’t told her everything, and it festers. He refuses.

“Have you slept with her?”

“Have you slept with Kord?”

She slaps him. Or tries too, at least, but Oliver grabs her wrist and then she’s pushed up against one of the new lair’s pillars and his tongue is halfway down her throat.

It’s harsh and violent and not at all what he thought their first time would be like. They don’t even get undressed, just push her underwear out of the way and his pants down far enough to free him. It’s over quickly, and they’re still panting when the door slams above them, indicating that they are no longer alone. 

They try to hide it, but Diggle knows. Of course he knows. Felicity runs, and when Oliver stays rooted to the floor Diggle can only shake his head.

(She asks him how exactly he knows Waller. He stays silent. The fight leaves her, and Felicity slowly gathers her things. “What are we doing, Oliver? When are you going to let me in?”

Three weeks later, she accepts Daniel Kord’s invitation to dinner.)

 

+1

He tells her he loves her in her kitchen.

He repeats back the words he said to her over two years ago, in an elevator shaft. She laughs. “Non-platonically?” 

“Very non-platonically,” he assures her, carrying her to bed.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it’s the first time they SHARE a bed. He thought it would be a serious affair. And it is. Just not in the way he imagined.

Their kisses are stretched because of the smiles on their faces. When he tells her again that he loves her, she giggles, as if she can’t keep her joy contained. It spills out, like sunshine.

They take their time – they’ve waited too long to rush this. He explores every inch of her body, and she returns the favor. He moans at the taste of her on his tongue, and she grabs his hair when she comes. When she’s recovered, she flips them, taking control and riding him slowly.

After, they eat Indian food in bed and watch most of a movie on Felicity’s laptop until Oliver realizes she’s been spelling “I love you” on his chest with her finger.

Their second time faster, more intense.

They barely leave her room that weekend, but finally they can no longer keep themselves squirreled away alone with each other. Sunday evening, they force themselves to get dressed and head to the lair. 

They intend to keep their relationship to themselves for now.

Then Digg takes one look at them and laughs.


End file.
